Tamed
by Starling22
Summary: "it means, to establish ties." Falling in love is not always a quick and easy thing, even in fairy tales. Let's see how this comes together.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

'Dungeon' was a bit of an exaggeration. The castle obviously hadn't been built with the intention to hold prisoners – the 12" by 12" little stone cell seemed like an after-thought. It was small, and while she hadn't gotten a good look around, she was fairly sure it was the only one in the short hallway. The thing wasn't even down deep in the bowels of the castle, like a proper dungeon….it was just a few steps down from the formal dining room, and, she guessed, directly adjacent to the kitchen – she'd heard the familiar whistling of a tea kettle, and the clattering of a few pots and pans coming from across the hallway a few hours after she'd been unceremoniously dumped into her "room".

Belle leaned forward, her head in her hands, her ribs aching from her restrictive corsetry as she hunched on the little stone shelf that she assumed would serve as her bed. Her father had always said her ornery streak would get her into trouble someday, and here was the proof of it. Shoot off your mouth in front of the wrong person – in front of the worst POSSIBLE person – and this is where you end up.

It was just – she was so bloody tired of being the pawn in everyone else's schemes, shuffled around back and forth, showed off, used for leverage, and never, EVER, having a say in the matter. She wasn't as ignorant of the political climate as the court always seemed to assume; she had been listening at the keyholes since she was a child, since there was nothing more interesting to catch than talk of tariffs and trade agreements. When the difficulties with the ogres first started a few years ago she'd been bold with her suggestions and warnings, but she'd been affectionately dismissed, patronized like an overly precocious child. As the situation became more dire, and she became more desperate, she learned to soften her suggestions, to wrap them in questions that made her father think they were his own ideas.

When she overhead her father fumbling negotiations with a powerfully influential neighboring city-state, she'd put on her best dress and spent an evening feigning interest in the heroic exploits of their vapid and self-obsessed prat of a prince. She gasped and sighed and smiled in all the right places, and the alliance she forged with their engagement had been almost enough to protect her countrymen from the bearing the full brunt of the battle.

Almost.

But when she heard her father had summoned the gold-spinner, she'd abandoned all hope of their alliances offering any kind of protection.

So then, to have that foppish brute Gaston reach across her, to physically push her out of the way of a man who seemed, at the end, to be the only hope to save the lives of her people, the last opportunity remaining at the end of every thwarted attempt she'd made – well.

Something inside of her snapped.

Still, she thought leaning back and resting her head against the stone wall – the looks on their faces when she'd struck the deal on her own had been priceless. It was as if they'd never really heard her speak before then.

This was one step forward that they couldn't undo for her. And she had a feeling _he_ knew that, as well. The deal had never been for her father to make. From the moment he entered their castle, from the first words he'd spoken, she had a feeling he'd known he was in negotiations with her.

A caretaker. He'd said he wasn't looking for love, and from what she'd heard of his ironclad deals, she felt safe she had nothing to fear on that count. But what exactly "caretaking" meant she still wasn't sure. She was waiting for the catch – and she had a feeling the "room" wasn't it.

Belle turned onto her side and stretched out on her new "bed". Cooking and cleaning might be preferable to the party-hosting and decorating she'd have been doing at Gaston's wife anyway. And, she noted with a snort, she would have substantially fewer antlers to dust here.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: **While everyone else riding this ship is watching/gushing over The Return, I am on an plane, and have paid for wi-fi, but am lacking headphones to watch the show. As Rumbelle shippers, I thought that kind of tragedy might appeal to you. Here's hoping this thing isn't AU by chapter 2.

Also, people are getting these story alerts! Hi guys! I've never had people get alerts for my stories before, it's exciting! Please let me know what you think, I'd love to hear your thoughts. FYI, I have a ~20- 30 chapter plan for this story, and lots more written, I'm just trying to get all the pieces in the right order before I post the next bit so I don't have to go back and add stuff. I'll post stuff as soon as I'm sure of it - but I'm looking forward to your critique and comments along the way. :)**  
**

**Chapter 2**

When she awoke the next morning, she found the door to her cell, or her room as he'd called it, had already been opened. He must have unlocked it when he awoke.

Belle stepped out of the room with caution, her soft shoes padding across the dusty stone floor. Her new master had left her no instructions when he unceremoniously dumped her into her room yesterday, and as of yet she really had no idea of her responsibilities. He must be lingering around the castle now somewhere, waiting for her.

The uncertainty made her feel sick. She'd hear stories of this man, of his ability to twist his words into something tempting, and to drive the desperate people unfortunate enough to deal with him into deals that ended in death, dismemberment, and generalized misery. Belle had always thought of him like the oracle from the old stories, giving people half-truths, and half-solutions, sending them away pacified but deeper into their troubles than they had been when they came to him. Every deal was a trick – and there was always something he didn't mention. Right now, she was wondering what he hadn't mentioned to her.

When she'd first met him, she'd been taken aback by his playful, casual air. She'd imagined a creature of darkness to by shrouded and quiet and full of mystery, but he had shown up laughing and twirling about and speaking as if everything were endlessly amusing while their lives dangled on the line in front of him, while their city burned. He acted as if the whole thing were a game, which, she supposed, it was for him. He laughed because he always had the upper hand, and because everyone already knew it. They knew they couldn't win, and he knew that they would play anyway.

Belle squared her shoulders. She had chosen to play, and she, too, knew she couldn't win. But still, she really, really didn't want to give him the satisfaction of seeing her sweat. Whatever he had to bring, she was going to face it like the royalty she was – with poise and dignity.

"Morning, Dearie!"

Belle gasped and turned, stumbling backward as she recoiled from the trilling voice behind her. He had been standing there – standing RIGHT behind her. How long had he been there? How did he do that?

He was still standing there, unmoving, looking delighted. She shivered, and slowly lowered the hands she had instinctively raised to her mouth to keep from screaming. "How….how…."

He cocked his head. "Not quite the response I was going for. We'll have to work on that."

She gaped at him.

"Do you know what else we'll have to work on?"

She shook her head. He leaned forward, conspiratorially. "Tea."

"What?"

"That's your first assignment, dearie. Tea. I'll be waiting in the dining room."

And with that he spun on his heel and disappeared up the hall, leaving her wondering where she would find the tea things, and, for that matter, where she would find the kitchen.

Belle stumbled back to the dungeon at the end of the day, her fingers raw and her patience exhausted. The day had not improved after her new master's first appearance.

When she'd finally managed to cobble together the tea things, she'd found him in the dining room and he'd started in on an intimidating list of chores for her to do. When he'd casually dropped in the request for her to…to….she didn't even want to think about it. She'd been waiting so anxiously for the other shoe to drop, and the terrifying image was now burned into her brain. Even know, after his quick assurance that it was only a joke, she had trouble shaking the idea off. It was exactly the kind of thing they had said in the stories.

She'd dropped the cup in her hand, chipping it on the floor, and had awkwardly stammered out something resembling an apology. Her fear, it seemed, was turning her into a clumsy, inarticulate dolt.

Rather than being put off by her nervous fumblings, however, he seemed to relish them. He had set her several tasks to complete by the end of the day, and while they may have been commonplace for many women, he might as well have asked her to translate Euclid. She had not once in her life successfully laundered a garment, and her earliest attempts at the culinary arts had had her banished from the kitchens until further notice. It wasn't that she didn't have domestic inclinations – she had enjoyed some of the more acceptable pursuits for a lady of her rank, like embroidery and tending to her rose garden – but these were skills she'd never acquired. And he seemed intent on actively participating in – and commenting on – her failures.

What he didn't seem intent on was giving her useful instructions _first_.

She'd been up to her elbows in a sloppy mess of suds and fabric, and had been feeling fairly pleased with her progress, the first time he popped in on her. He'd grinned when she jumped (she really needed to learn how to not react to his sudden appearances) and had casually pointed out that the dragons-hide cloak she'd thrown into the mix was probably ruined beyond the help even of his magic, and that perhaps she should take care only to launder actual fabrics in this way in the future. She'd felt her stomach turn to ice as he smiled at her, fearing the repercussions for her mistakes, but he'd just giggled and dashed off, leaving her a bundle of nerves as she desperately fished about for the cloak in the dingy water.

It had been the same situation with the cleaning, and the cooking, and even her attempts to navigate the castle itself.

She curled up on the concrete block of her bed and buried her face in her arms, tears of frustration stinging her eyes and tightening her throat. Her pride was hurt. She wanted to be strong and defiant in front of this man, not to bumble along like some pretty little idiot who couldn't darn a sock.

She rubbed her face briskly across her arm, brushing away the tears. She was just going to have to learn. Slowly. And if he was bent on mocking her – fine. Let him. There would be many failures ahead, she was sure, but she was stubborn – and she could learn anything if she set her mind to it.

She sighed, and remembered the cup. Dropping it, chipping it, had been her first real failure of the morning, and she had been terrified of his reaction when she saw it. She remembered thinking, briefly, that maybe he would take back his quip, and get children for her to skin, just as punishment. A panicked, childish part of her had wanted to hide it in her hands, or to run out of the castle and never stop. And yet his reaction had been one of complete and utter indifference. Just a cup. Just like the coat she'd apparently ruined, the floor that remained filthy after hours of sweeping. For somebody who lived in such a grand and richly furnished castle, who had gone to the trouble to strike a deal for a housekeeper, he seemed to care very little for his things.

And he hadn't raised her voice at her. Not once.

Either he had no regard for his possessions, or….was he actually being patient with her?

She felt a warming spark of hope as she began to drift off to sleep.

Hold on to that, she told herself. We're going to need it.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

"Can you show me how?" Belle asked.

From his seat across the table he looked up at her, and cocked his head to the side.

"What was that? He asked.

Belle took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. She looked down at the table of silver dishes, bowl, candle holders, and miscellany she'd been asked to polish. She didn't know how to approach the silver any more than she knew how to launder the clothing he'd given her, but it was time to set a precedent. She couldn't go on botching every job he gave her because he assumed she knew how to do it, or because he enjoyed watching her fail. Enough was enough.

"I'm sorry, Sir, but, I've never done this before." Said Belle, hoping her voice sounded less tremulous than she felt. "These pieces seem very nice, and I don't want to risk ruining them. So please…can you show me how I'm do to it?"

He stared at her for a moment, then stood up with a flourish, tugging his vest down as he walked over to her.

"My dear," he said with a smile, "After everything you've ruined this week? I thought you'd _never_ ask."


	4. Chapter 4

**AN: **Thanks to everyone who is reading this, and especially to you folks who have commented - seeing comments come through are a little bright spot in my day...so thanks!  
I'm really enjoying piecing this multi-chapter fic together - even though the process is happening quite slowly. LIKE THEIR LOVE . Also, there is more ooey-gooey fluffy dramatic stuff coming later I swear.

**Chapter 4**

After two weeks in the castle, Belle was not any closer to understanding the mysterious man to whom she had voluntarily signed away her life. If anything, she was finding him more of a contradiction each day.

While he never volunteered his help, she had found after the incident with the silver that he was quite generous with his time when asked, and not at all opposed to explaining things to her in great detail. Teaching seemed to come naturally for him. She was also finding that her earlier belief that he was taking enjoyment from her failures and miseries seemed have been a bit unfair. It wasn't that he didn't like harassing her – he definitely enjoyed seeing her flustered and frustrated, and he put great effort into keeping her off balance, frightening her with threats of the kind one would expect from a monster of his caliber – but he seemed to have a limit at which it stopped being fun. At least, he hadn't followed through on any of his threats, and Belle was starting to pick up on a certain timbre of his voice and a particular manner he had of flourishing his hands that she thought might be his signs that he was trying to make a joke.

Most shocking, though, was the fact that he didn't seem to claim this teasing as only the master's prerogative; not that Belle had yet worked up the courage to make a true frontal assault, but she'd tested the waters. She asked questions, challenged him to give explanations for his instructions, suggested better ways of getting things done. He seemed to find it amusing when she said something clever, or asked pointed questions, or challenged his methods. He enjoyed the banter – even if he never really let her get the upper hand.

Either way, it was a relief to know that he didn't expect or require her silence. The cautious conversations they had were making her days infinitely more bearable.

The only time she was still afraid to speak to him was when he was spinning.

When he sat down to the wheel, he changed. His face dropped the theatrical mask he usual wore, and his hands ceased their quirky fiddling and flourishing – their movements became slow and elegant, as though he were remembering a dance he had once known by heart, and his fingers were moving to the music. He could sit there for hours, lost in the pattern, seeming miles and decades away from the dark castle that was now his home. The spell it cast over him was something she was unwilling to break.

She had waited one afternoon for several hours for him to finish before asking him a question, loitering about in the halls outside the dining room pretending to be dusting. Earlier that morning he'd set her to cleaning out the hallways in the northern tower, and she'd uncovered something to which she desperately wanted access.

When she finally heard him stand, she waited a moment, and then walked in as casually as she could.

"What is it you want to ask me for, dearie?" he said, not looking up from the scroll he was examining at the table.

She frowned. Was she that obvious? "What do you mean?"

He looked up, and wagged a finger at her, but his voice was teasing "You, my dear, are not very good at deceptions. Nor do they suit you. Also, I've heard you rustling in the hallway for at least half an hour. Out with it."

Belle swished over, frowning at being found out, and sat across from him.

"Up in the north tower, when I was cleaning today, I found….a room."

"That's not surprising, dearie. This is a _castle_."

"A library" she said shortly, "I want to know….well, I'd like to see if it's alright…can I use it?"

"What, for reading in?"

"Um…yes."

"It's a library, dearie, that's what it's _for_."

She raised her eyebrows, still looking uncertain, and he put down the scroll and stared at her, bemused.

"Your unconventional housekeeping methods aside" – she frowned at him– "our deal was that you would be the caretaker of this estate. With the exception of my private rooms in the west tower, you have free reign. Don't throw anything away, and try to destroy as little as possible, but other than that it's your responsibility to care for the estate." He waved his hand dismissively, looking back to his papers "Use whatever you'd like."

"I didn't realize." she said warmly. "Thank you"

He looked back up at her to find her beaming at him. He looked uncomfortable, but made an effort to smile back quickly and nodded at her. It must be unusual for him, she thought – delighting people instead of frightening them.

She thought for a moment.

"And…..well, there's something else…"

"Ah, keen to push your luck today?"

"I'm even worse at not pushing my luck than I am at deceptions, as you of all people should realize." She said, and he quirked an eyebrow at her, a small smile turning at the corner of his mouth. "It's just that…well, I didn't really get a chance to pack before I came here, and this dress really isn't practical for everyday…." she looked down at her gold confection of a gown, now watermarked and torn beyond saving. "There are a few things I need that I haven't been able to find here, and I was hoping…."

She looked up at him and faltered.

His eyes were wide. Oh god, if she thought he'd looked uncomfortable before…now he looked completely out of his depth. He seemed shocked….almost, embarrassed? Maybe she really had pushed her luck too far, asking him for clothing…

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have presumed to…"

He cleared his throat, interrupting her. "Make a list" he said, suddenly very interested in his hands "of whatever you need. I'll take care of it tomorrow when I'm in town."

"Thank you" she said quietly, and she left as quickly as she could without seeming rude, leaving him hunched over his papers.


	5. Chapter 5

Guys, so sorry for the hiatus! Real life (ie, work) hit me pretty hard in the face and I couldn't think what to do with one of the upcoming chapters so it just got ugly. But, back now! I know I'm not perfect about uploading on time but I'm REALLY excited to have people reading this, so I'll try to keep up with about a chapter a week. I know the chapters are short - they're morel like vignettes of life in the castle - but I'll try to keep them coming! I'm envisioning this being about 20 chapters in the end.

Also, LOVE hearing from you guys! Please comment, it lets me know you're still reading and/or interested in the story! :)

**Chapter 5 **

It was the cold that woke her first. Belle's room had never been cold – not even on her first night, before she'd found the old sheepskins and quilted blankets that now covered her makeshift bed. It was strange, to be in a cell with windows, in the dead still of winter, and not feel the chill of the icy air -even in her father's castle the winter had been biting cold – but she had taken it to be one of the small blessings of an enchanted castle, and been thankful, and not given it much more thought.

Tonight, though, it felt as though the warmth had been sucked out of everything – the stone, her blankets, her very hands. She sat up, her skin stinging in objection to the shifting of the icy blankets, and rubbed her hands together briskly hoping for warmth. It didn't help.

The top quilt shifted and fell from her shoulders, and she felt something else. A shiver started at the base of her spine and shuddered up through her, leaving her teeth chattering and her hands shaking. Not only was her room freezing, there was some force, like a draft, blowing from behind her, and out into the hallway. She looked around her, but she knew the draft wasn't coming from her windows – the night was still.

She rose from her bed, leaving her frigid blankets behind her, and put her hand against the wooden door, moving in to press her ear against it, but it swung easily open. Had he left it unlocked?

The force became stronger as she stepped over the threshold, pooling like icy water in her lungs and tugging her forward. This was no wind, she thought. It was magic. Some kind of dark magic…..HE was doing something, and she was catching the backlash. She moved, cautiously, out of the hallway and up the small stairs out of the dungeon. She more the moved along with it, the stronger it pulled at her.

She could hear it too, like rushing water in her ears. Like howling. She cupped her hand around the shell of her ear and turned into the sound.

Oh god. It _was_ howling. Barely audible over the humming rush and the pulse of her own heartbeat against her ears, fading in and out, was a voice. An animal, or a man, or a child, she couldn't tell, but something at the heart of whatever was going on was crying out as if in pain.

Belle gave in to her instincts and ran towards the sound. The wind picked up, pushing her onward, and before she knew it she was racing towards the west tower. She could see the open doorway that led to the stairwell and ran toward it, calling out.

The heavy wooden door slammed shut with a bang that echoed through the dark castle, and the force released her so suddenly that she stumbled and fell backwards onto the floor. Belle waited, panting, attempting to still her breath and straining to hear some echo of the voice, but the hall was unnaturally silent.

When she returned to her bed, her blankets were warm again.

He must not have known that she could feel it, she thought, as she cocooned herself in their warmth and attempted to calm her still-shivering body. Regardless, his message was clear. Whatever he was doing, whatever he was making in the middle of the night in the west tower, she was not to be involved in it.

But she wouldn't forget it either.

Belle understood darkness and light, good and bad, right and wrong – but her master was something else entirely. Her head told her to fear him, and she did, even now – the darkness in him was deeply rooted, and unthinkably powerful, and only an idiot would not have feared him.

But Belle was brave, if nothing else, and no amount of fear could stop the rebellious whispering of a heart that wondered if the voice she'd heard, plaintive and sorrowful and in pain, had been her master himself.


	6. Chapter 6

AN: That last chapter was a bit wah-wah. Have this one instead. It's fluffier. I think everything will be fluffier from here on out. 3**  
**

**Chapter 6**

During her third week at the castle, he invited her to take tea with him in the dining room, although that makes it sound much more chivalrous than it actually was.

She had just poured his tea, and was putting the things back on the tray to return it to the kitchen when he spoke up.

"Question for you, dearie. What sort of an aristocrat doesn't take tea?" he trilled.

"I don't know, sir. What kind?" she responded automatically, still arranging the tray.

"That wasn't a quip, dearie, it was a question."

She paused, and looked up.

"Oh." She thought for a moment, "Oh, do you mean me?"

He bowed his head slightly, and a flourish of his hand confirmed her answer.

"Ah, well. I do take tea actually but….um. I thought you might not want to be disturbed. I usually take it in the kitchen."

"That seems a bit silly." He wrinkled his nose at her. "Contrary to what I'm sure you've heard, I'm not inclined to bite."

She laughed, and he pointed a clawed finger at the chair in front of her, which pulled itself out for her.

"Please, sit." He said, smiling.

She shifted her skirts as she settled into the chair (he had come through on his earlier promise, and she was now dressed in a much more practical linen dress, one of several soft blue pieces he'd brought her back from town) and poured herself a small cup of tea, doctoring it with several lumps of sugar and a touch of milk.

She took a tentative sip. She was grateful for the invitation, but not sure whether he'd prefer her to make conversation or to just sit together in silence.

She set her tea cup back down on to the table, running her finger along the handle as she tried to think of something natural to say.

He looked up at her, and scowled.

"Why are you using that."

"Pardon?"

"That cup" he said, staring at the offending object, "I thought you'd have thrown it away."

"What? The cup?" she asked, "Why would I do that?"

"Because it's broken." He sneered. "There are plenty of other cups here, dearie, no need to hang onto a broken one?"

She wrapped her hands around it defensively. She could hardly tell him that she remembered it as the first mark she'd made on his dark castle, that his reaction to it had been her first spark of hope she'd felt about her new life. "It's damaged, but it's hardly ruined. It's still perfectly serviceably."

"It's ugly."

"It's not! It's – the chip adds character." She was fiddling with it, running her finger over the chipped edge as if she were soothing it.

"It's sharp. You'll hurt yourself."

She grinned. "I should think I know well enough to take care with it. And anyway, the edge really isn't sharp anymore. The more use it gets the smoother it becomes. I really doubt it could hurt me at this point. "

He was looking at her strangely, incredulously, as though she were something under his microscope. She felt suddenly uncomfortable, which made her defensive.

"Anyway, I like it, and I've come to think of it as mine. I might even call it my favorite. If you wish to magic it away from me I have no doubt you can, but as long as it's up to me I'll keep it, thank you" She raised her head and took a sip from the cup, her eyes closed and her pinkie out.

Normally that sort of thing would have worked perfectly to lighten the mood – he seemed to find her little defiance endlessly amusing – but when she opened her eyes, tea still to her lips, she found him unchanged. His eyes were dark, his brow furrowed, his mouth a thin hard line, as if she were a particularly troubling problem he was trying to solve.

She found herself blushing under his scrutiny, and looked down again. She heard him make a small sound, like a hmm, and when she looked over again his eyes were again focused on his own cup.

"Well, dearie, I suppose that's your choice to make."

They finished their drinks in silence.


	7. Chapter 7

** A little late on this friends! I'm sorry! This chapter had been a placeholder keeping me back on this story for a while, but now it's done! And it is...the CURTAIN SCENE.  
**

**Please let me know if you're still reading, I need the encouragement! :)  
**

**Chapter 7**

If Belle had to put a date to it, she would say it started the morning she fell fixing the curtains.

When he'd awoken that morning, she'd caught snatches of birdsong filtering in with the sunlight through her tiny bedroom windows, and it had struck her that she'd been here, with her master in the dark castle, for nearly two months. The snow was beginning to melt in patches nearest to the warm stone walls of the castle. Spring was coming.

It made her feel like a fresh start, and that, in turn made her feel like cleaning. _Everything._

She'd been on a tear in the back part of the castle all morning, scrubbing grime from the kitchen windows, sweeping out the moldy straw littering the corners, and even opening the doors to the thrillingly icy but fresh outside air. Afterward the kitchen had looked so bright and welcoming – it was easy to choose the next target.

Her resolution had wavered slightly when she saw her master spinning in the corner of the main dining hall, but she picked up her skirt and determinedly stayed her course. If he'd noticed her raucously and awkwardly moving the ladder into the room at all, he hadn't said anything about it. In the end, she was the first to speak.

"Why do you spin so much," she heard herself ask, and was surprised by the boldness of her own voice. She hadn't really meant to ask it out loud, but she'd caught herself watching him intently, and she was burning to ask.

He didn't answer. Well, of course he didn't, she thought. It's kind of a personal question. She apologized, stammering out an explanation. "I'm sorry, it's just, you've spun straw into more gold than you could ever spend…." She petered out weakly. He remained quiet for a long moment, and she was about to turn back to the curtains when she heard him answer.

"I like to watch the wheel." He said quietly, and he was using a voice she hadn't heard before. "It helps me forget."

It sounded like an honest answer, which was shocking in itself. There _was_ something hypnotic, reassuring about watching the wheel. Belle had felt it herself - the slow movement of the large wheel pacing the frantic activity of the small spindle, the stillness of the spinner which belies the intense focus and skilled hands required for the craft. Add to that the magic of her master's methods and the mysterious transformation that he seemed to go through when he sat down to spin, and even she found it hard to take her eyes off of it.

"Forget what?" she asked gently, coaxingly.

He stopped for a moment. "I guess it worked," he trilled, smiling his sneering grin. There's the answer she expected. He turned and smiled, giggling shrilly at his own joke, and Belle wanted to scowl at him for teasing her, but it _WAS_ kind of funny, and she found that she was laughing along in spite of herself.

She turned back towards the curtains, grabbing a fistful of fabric and attempting to tug them back. Really, there should have been some sort of pull or sash. Perhaps they'd been left shut so long they were lodged like this. She shook them a bit more violently, hoping to break them loose.

She heard his footsteps as he got up from the wheel and walked over to watch her, and she could feel his gaze on her.

"What _are_ you doing?" he asked, and there was that voice again, this time genuinely curious, slightly concerned. She preferred him in this timbre – lower, and somehow richer. Maybe it was the absence of mockery she was hearing, but it made her feel like she was actually speaking to him, rather than acting out some sort of role in his little play.

"Opening these!" she said, trying to sound exasperated but unable to keep the smile out of her voice. "It's almost spring – we should let some light in." She tugged again, feeling uniform resistance, and sighed in frustration. "What did you do, nail them down?"

"Yes" he said, as though it went without saying, and she rolled her eyes into the curtain. He would nail them down. Ridiculous man.

Well, nothing to do for it. She grabbed hold of the curtains with both hands and gave one powerful yank. She was rewarded with the feel of fabric ripping loose, but her moment of triumph was short-lived. She'd lost her footing on the ladder, misjudged the momentum, and the curtains were falling, and she was falling with them.

The shut her eyes and braced for the impact, but when it came it wasn't nearly as sharp as it should have been. It was gentle, and solid, and warm…

She opened her eyes.

Oh.

She was in his arms, safe, and, she realized with a flush, closer to him than she had ever been. Closer than she probably should have been.

His face was inches from hers, but he wasn't looking at her. He was squinting, as if in shock, into the sunlight. The pupils of his strange eyes had contracted to tiny pinpoints of darkness, and she could see the golden flakes that were embedded under the surface of his skin glittering in the harsh light. She found it hard to look away.

"Thank you" she said, and he seemed to finally realize that he was holding her, and gently dropped her to the floor. He stepped back, his hands fluttering, his eyes looking anywhere but at her.

"Thank you" she repeated, brushing down her skirt.

"It's – it's no matter." he stammered. His discomfort was palpable. She wondered, if he stopped fluttering his hands about, if she'd be able to see them shaking.

Nobody touches him, she thought. When was the last time he'd had that much physical contact, been that close to another human being?

Another human being. In a moment, she realized what had been bothering her about his tone, and all of the pieces came together in her mind. He was two sides of a coin. He wasn't just some kinder or more complex version of the beast in the stories – he was that beast, with all of its horrors, and also something completely different. He was – or had been – and maybe still remained, somewhere underneath it all – a man. He must be. Looking at him in that moment, she wondered if she was catching a glimpse of his true self through his thick haze of dark magic. There had been hints, when she thought about it - his moments of quiet, the small kindnesses that seem to cost him so much, how easily he was set off-kilter by her presence at times. They were so unequivocally human.

And for him to exist that way – so violent and so gentle – there must be a war being waged inside him. The man he could be - a human man, quite possibly a good man, enveloped in a shroud of power and darkness, struggling to move within it, thrashing about, stumbling and frequently losing the battle. He was coated in this curse, obscured by it, shackled by it. Maybe he wasn't fighting as hard as he should be - but there was still defiance in him.

His moments of emotional vulnerability, his rush to catch her, his sudden awkwardness at their proximity – if she thought of him as only a man, his actions were endearing. They were kind – they were sweet.

Her heart pulled at her throat. It was cruel of her, she thought, trying to tear down the curtains, rip away his protection, send the light of the outside breaking in like a bull tearing through the safe confines of his dark castle. What if he needed the darkness. What if it was a comfort to him – possibly his only comfort.

"I'll put the curtains back up." She said softly, and she was truly sorry.

He began to walk away, hesitated, stopped.

"Ah, um…" he turned to face her, puts his hand up in a gesture of dismissal, or resignation, or possibly defeat, "There's no need." He looked more uncertain than she'd ever seen him, grimacing in something she thought might be meant as a smile. "I'll get used to it."

And there was a flash of something there she hasn't seen before, she thought. For a man, who had spent God knows how many years couched in darkness, letting even a little light in was a brave step forward indeed.


End file.
